


Winter Term

by Fabrisse



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabrisse/pseuds/Fabrisse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt joins another extracurricular activity at Dalton and thinks about his future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Term

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the KissKiss exchange at LJ community Kurt_Blaine.

McKinley had a lot of clubs. If Kurt pulled out his yearbook, he could find pages and pages of clubs -- all of which had Rachel Berry's face in their pictures, usually near the front -- plus the Cheerios and all the sports teams.

The thing was, most of the clubs were relatively small compared to the total of the student body. More than that, Rachel wasn't the only student who looked at clubs as easy extracurriculars for college applications. With few exceptions, the clubs only met once a week -- or less -- and rarely did they have any end goal to them. The chess club never went to a tournament in Columbus, nor did the Young Democrats or Republicans attend a political rally. Even their branch of the Model UN only debated within the local school district, no wonder they'd ended up as Monaco.

At Dalton, it was different. The boys here didn't just want to go to "an Ivy League School," they knew which Ivy League schools were best for which subjects and whether or not an Ivy was the best for _their_ subject and which Ivy they'd be a legacy for -- if they had the grades to get in.

Extracurricular activities were encouraged; in the case of sports, they were actually required. But an extracurricular could be a solo activity, like the only boarder who did Savate and attended meets all over Ohio. If it was a club, it was a passion. There were fewer clubs, even as there were more extracurricular classes in things like business and Russian and art history, but the chess club competed at a national level, the battle-bot club had a meet in Canada, and even the cooking club was going to Pittsburgh for a competition.

Kurt felt a little lost. He loved clothes, but he didn't really have much desire to do anything but put them together into cool outfits. He wasn't planning to be a designer or even a photographer. He could draw and he loved to express himself through collages, but art didn't drive him, at least not at the moment.

He genuinely loved to sing, and The Warblers were opening his musical horizons in ways he couldn't have imagined when he first arrived at Dalton. Kurt found out from David, for instance, that about half The Warblers had been choir boys in elementary school -- or whatever it was rich kids called elementary school. They'd had serious training in multipart harmonies since second grade and thought of The Warblers' arrangements as light and fun because really, after singing soprano for Ralph Vaughn Williams' Sea Symphony at Carnegie Hall -- as Wes and David had done when they were ten -- _anything_ seemed light and fun.

When Kurt thought about his future and music, though, he could imagine being happy working with a small combo that played occasional gigs or being part of a Gay Men's Chorus. It was something he loved, no question -- and he never wanted to lose it from his life -- but it wasn't how he wanted to earn his living.

Words were his strength. He spoke to the head of the debate club, who told him he could try out for the team in May for the following year. They were too close to the all-state meet to take on a new member.

After discussing it with both his advisor and the head of the club, at the beginning of the new trimester, right after the Christmas break, Kurt joined the literary arts magazine. Unlike the one at McKinley which put out one smeared, photocopied issue a year and, in Kurt's opinion, leaned a little too heavily on the limerick, Dalton's magazine came out once a trimester, plus a seniors only edition at graduation printed on heavy paper.

The nine staff members met once a week. Everyone took submissions home and after two of staffers had read a story or poem, it was either returned to the submitter with regrets or circulated to the whole editorial team for possible inclusion in the next edition.

James, the senior whose name was on the masthead as Editor-in-Chief, explained that everyone on the staff had to submit at least one piece to the magazine himself. "Look, we take non-fiction if it's interesting enough. It can be something as small as a haiku or as large as a novella. It may not even make it into the magazine. I came in as a freshman, but didn't have my first story published until last year. I'm the only one who sees the names on the pieces before they're given out for review. The copies everyone gets are redacted until publication. If you make it to the open debate, you'll learn more about your own literary style than you probably ever wanted to."

Kurt just nodded. "I may take you up on that haiku suggestion."

James gave him a crooked grin. "It's fine if you do. Just make it a good one."

\---  
There was a form online that the magazine used to rate the submissions. Kurt entered his initials, gave a reason for his verdict, and then checked either yes, no, or maybe. Out of seven pieces he'd been handed his first week, there'd been one maybe and one yes. Maybes took on the verdict of the other person rating it. If both gave maybes, then a third person would break the tie.

Kurt found himself amazed at how well thought out the system was, how well thought out so many of the systems were at Dalton.

He sighed, and Blaine looked up from his homework. "Sorry," Kurt said, "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Trust me, I am in dire need of a break from my physics textbook. What's up?"

"Feeling inadequate." Kurt rolled his eyes at himself.

"Why?"

Kurt leaned back to talk to him better. "It's a couple of things. So many of the boys here seem to know exactly what their next move in life is. I mean, Grimes can't seem to form a sentence without the word 'horse' in it, but his family has been breeding and training thoroughbreds for generations. He wants to do the same thing with his life. Or Thuy, who _doesn't_ want to do what his family has done for generations, but is already working with the local animal shelter so he can get into a good veterinary school. I don't know what I want."

Blaine nodded sympathetically. "Neither do I. I have an idea that the next step is college, preferably Cornell, if I can get in, because I have trust that will pay my tuition there. But beyond that… Isn't that what college is for? Figuring out what the really big next step is?"

"Yes, but at McKinley, I felt special. I wasn't challenged, and I ended up in a dumpster at least once a week, but I knew with every fiber of my being that I would do anything to get out of Lima and, I hope, get out of Ohio. But here, I don't see how I can compete. I'm so ordinary."

The sound of Blaine's book slamming shut was loud. "You got a B average coming into classes you'd never even thought about taking before you came here. You got an A in History from -- look, I've _never_ gotten an A from Mister Lloyd. I feel blessed when my paper doesn't look like it was bled on. You have this ability to analyze things." He shook his head. "I'm a year ahead of you, but I do better in the classes where I've had a chance to discuss things with you because you, Kurt Hummel, have this amazing way of seeing into the heart of an issue. And you think you're ordinary?"

"You think I'm smart?" Kurt asked shyly.

"I _know_ you're smart. So did you when you came here."

"There are people here who actually have higher than four-oh averages. I'm not one of them."

Blaine smiled, a little tightly. "If you wanted to be, I have no doubt you could be. But you like Warblers, I think you like the magazine…"

Kurt shrugged. "I haven't been doing it long enough to tell, but it's certainly making me think about how I use words."

"You have time with your friends in Lima and your family. You're letting yourself have a life outside the walls." Blaine stopped himself. "Look, my father had my life all planned out for me, and, honestly, he never asked a damned thing about what I might want. When I came out, the first thing he thought of was that I wouldn't carry on the family name. It didn't occur to him to ask whether I saw myself with kids in my future."

"Do you?"

Blaine blinked. "What?"

"See yourself with kids?"

"Yeah. I don't know what I want to do with my life. I'm trying to get into Cornell on early acceptance so that I can defer my start date for a year. Work at something, maybe in construction because at the moment, I think, maybe architecture could be something great for me. So I should learn the whole process. Or maybe I'll ask your Dad for a job so that I can earn extra money at school repairing cars. But I want to do something besides sit and study for a year. I know that. And then I can let college surprise me."

Kurt looked at him closely. "So it never worries you that you'll never be anything special?"

Blaine swallowed hard. "You seem to be equating 'special' with famous. Am I wrong?"

Kurt thought a moment. "No. Famous people are special."

"Even John Wayne Gacy? Can't get more famous than him."

"All right, there's also infamy, but, yes, I want to be known. You do too, or you wouldn't be singing lead all the time. You enjoy showing off, being a 'rock star' at Dalton." He took a deep breath. "Ten years from now, I want to be able to walk into the hottest restaurant in New York and get a table because everyone knows me. And maybe it's better to be a little bit notorious than to just be dull."

"I'm going to walk away from this conversation before I get really angry." Blaine stopped at the door. "Do you keep up with the news at all?"

"Not really." He was disturbed that Blaine wasn't looking at him. "I hear about most things."

"Go to Comedy Central and watch the opening from January 10, right after Giffords was shot. You know, we watch the repeat in Senior Commons every night before dinner. You could come, if you wanted to." He left.

Kurt went to his computer and tried to figure out what had just happened.

\---  
The next night, Kurt walked in just as the announcer said, "This is _The Daily Show_ with Jon Stewart." Blaine was sitting by himself in an overstuffed chair in the corner, and Kurt went to sit on the floor next to him.

Blaine grinned when he saw Kurt, and moved over so that they could just barely fit in the chair together.

After the show was over they all got up and went to dinner, but Blaine stopped him just as they were about to enter the dining hall. "I'm sorry. I have a temper, and I don't want anyone to see it. But I shouldn't have gotten mad."

"You didn't say anything bad. You didn't scare me. And I was throwing a bit of a pity party." Kurt's mouth quirked up. "I liked what Jon Stewart said about 'people you have never met are leading lives of real dignity and goodness.' I… What do you think makes a life, I don't know, extraordinary."

"Having the right person to share it with." Blaine shrugged. "I don't think anything else can be as important."

Kurt stared at him, a thousand questions on his tongue. "Damn. We're about to be late to tables."

Blaine pressed his hand. "Come to my room after study hall. We can talk on the stairs if my roommates are around."

"Sure."

\---

They'd smiled at each other shyly when Kurt came by, not speaking for a long time.

Finally, Blaine said, "I know you asked to join the debate team. They lost at their Regionals last year because the other team won the toss and chose the anti-union stance for their final debate. And a bunch of rich boys from a prep school couldn't convincingly argue in favor of them."

Kurt gaped at him. "You're not joking."

"Nope." He bumped Kurt's shoulder. "You see people who know what they want. I see Johnson, whose entire path is bent toward Wall Street, in a panic if he doesn't make it into Harvard. I know for a fact he hates math. But he knows what he'd going to do with his life at seventeen. Or Whalley who can't imagine being anything but a track star. What happens to him if he tears a tendon or ruins his knee? And you, God, Kurt, you have these gifts and you're worried because you haven't found what you're passionate about. You're more worried about being known some day, but, forgive me, I don't see you looking for a passion -- a reason to be both famous and _respected_." Blaine cocked his head. "I take that back. When you asked to join the debate club, or being on literary arts right now, maybe you are trying things on for size."

"A little. I've been thinking a lot. Did the life your family had mapped out for you -- was it something you wanted to do?"

"The family part -- having my own in the future -- yes, I think so. But the rest of it? I don't have any real love for the law, and even if I did, I'm not sure I'd want to join the family firm and do corporate. I love history, though, and it's often the B.A. that leads to a law degree, so that part didn't seem too bad. I just think we're young. Why shouldn't we experiment? Really find our passion?"

Kurt nodded. "Take a little bit of everything and see what sticks?"

"Yeah." Blaine grinned. "I have an aunt who thinks no one should be allowed to go to college until two years after they graduate high school. She doesn't care what they do with those two years, travel, work, learn a new language, but just staying hermetically sealed in academics seems to her to be a waste. Mind you, she's the crazy aunt."

"I have one of those." Kurt smiled shyly.

"Everyone should."

Kurt sighed and leaned a little into Blaine's space. "So, oh wise mentor, what do I need to do to find my passion?"

For a moment, Kurt thought he saw Blaine's eyes flick to his lips, but then his direct gaze returned like nothing had happened.

"Well." Blaine peered at him closely. "What's your best memory with your Dad? And is there anything about home you miss? Besides your wardrobe." He elbowed Kurt gently.

"Hmm." Kurt thought for a second. "I really miss working on the cars more than I thought I would. Not the routine oil changes or helping people jump their batteries while Dad's out plowing snow, but I look forward to the weekends where I'm doing the biannual check on a Citroen or helping Dad with an old T-Bird or something." He rolled his eyes at himself. "And cooking. I mean the food here isn't bad for institutional food, but I miss doing the chopping or adapting recipes." He slewed his eyes at Blaine and gave a cheeky grin. " _And_ my wardrobe. What about you?"

Blaine smiled at him fondly. "I don't miss much from home. I brought my guitar with me, and I reserve a practice piano twice a week so that I can try out tunes."

"Really?"

Blaine nodded. "Don't tell anyone. I haven't written anything I'm ready to have someone else hear, but I enjoy it. Best memory?"

"My twelfth birthday. We drove up to Cleveland and went to the art museum in the morning and Dad took me to lunch at the restaurant there. In the afternoon, we hit the Rock and Roll Museum and went to Hard Rock for dinner. And that was great too. Dad enjoyed the afternoon more, and I liked the morning more. But the whole day was great because we did things for both of us. You?"

Blaine pursed his lips like he was deciding whether to share. "I was nine, maybe ten, when my Dad got sick -- nothing awful, just flu -- but Mom had tickets to the opera. Her friends either already had tickets or weren't interested, and she finally decided to take me rather than waste the ticket. It was magnificent. So much was happening on the stage and the music was just gorgeous. I cried at the end, thus fulfilling at least one gay stereotype." He rolled his eyes at himself.

"What opera?"

" _Lucia di Lammermoor_." Blaine nudged Kurt's shoulder. "You know, we're only about two hours from Cincinnati or Cleveland here. If we find four other students, we could go to an art museum or a matinee any weekend that we reserved a van and roped in a driver."

Kurt turned to him. "Really? I thought the school had to organize things."

"It just takes a request." Blaine smiled to himself. There was a Warbler's performance on the Saturday before Valentine's Day, and Blaine had thought of something perfect to do on the Sunday, since none of the Warblers would be able to make it home that weekend.

He decided it was time to plan.

\---

Kurt was surprised when James got up during the announcements portion of Monday's morning assembly.

James glanced at his notes and said, "The Literary Arts Magazine is printing an all poetry issue for Valentine's Day this year. Any form of verse is fine, and any topic is acceptable, although love poetry will be given top consideration for this edition. There will be an all essay edition in April, for those of you who prefer that form of expression. Because this decision wasn't made until this weekend, the submission deadline is short. Monday, January 31, is the last day we can take entries, but we'll accept them right up until our meeting at four o'clock. Thank you." He nodded and returned to his seat.

At the meeting that afternoon, James had thick envelopes for the other eight staff members. "The English faculty, where possible, have been concentrating on poetry this month. They've taken the best pieces turned in for the assignments and shared them with us which is why we have so many." He gestured at the envelopes they were holding. "I'm going to let us all go for today. Any poetry that we've already accepted will go into this edition, so that gives us nearly three pages. I'm also setting up a little amendment on the screening form. When you're done rating the packets and click submit, you'll be given the name of a fellow staff member to exchange packets with. I want everyone to have read at least two whole packets by Thursday. It's early enough in the semester that the homework load should be a little lighter. Any questions?"

There was some general mumbling from everyone, but no one seemed unclear.

"In that case," James said, "Go start rating your packets."

Kurt stayed after for a minute. "I have Warblers' on Thursdays at this time."

James nodded. "I know. I've talked with Wes. I get you this week, but he gets you the following week since it's right before your performance, and, if he has to call a Monday practice before Regionals, you're his. The layout meeting will be held right after dinner on the second, so let your study hall monitor know."

"It's nice to be wanted," Kurt said, dryly.

"Your comments so far have been very thoughtful. I print out the comments for the rejected ones, in case the authors want to know why they haven't been accepted. You obviously have a good handle on tone and style and know how to express it."

Kurt blinked in surprise. "Thank you."

"Now, go read."

\---

James was right about one thing, now that he'd caught up to the curriculum, Kurt's beginning of term study load felt pretty light. He was able to get through his entire packet before dinner. He joined the group in the commons to watch "The Daily Show" and found that he enjoyed talking with some of the other guys on their way to the dining hall about the topics the show had covered.

After study hall, Blaine stopped by his room looking a little frustrated.

"I missed you this afternoon," Kurt said. "Heavy work load?"

"Not too bad. No, I was with the Academic Dean."

"Not a detention, I hope. Wes would kill you if we had to cancel the Valentine's concert."

Blaine shuddered at the thought. "No. I was making a complaint against a teacher. The magazine you're working on is going to be using class assignments."

"I know. I've already picked up my second batch."

"Really?" Blaine seemed panicked.

"Yes. What's the problem?"

"It's not in the syllabus anywhere that he was going to pass our work along to anyone else. He went out of his way to encourage us to be as personal -- 'intimate' was the word he used -- as we could in our poetry, and then he just handed it off without telling us."

Kurt looked at him. "What did the dean say?"

"That he'd look into it. Essentially, we give up our rights to it by handing it in, but I think Doctor Jones agreed with me that it should have been mentioned in the syllabus and in class." He shrugged. "It probably means next year's class won't be blindsided, but it doesn't help this year's students."

"If it's any comfort, we don't know the author's names until after they've been accepted."

Blaine gave him a soft smile. "I never thought I'd be hoping for a rejection."

\---

At Thursday's meeting, and Kurt had definitely double checked with Wes before missing a Warbler's practice, James had them circle the chairs. He had stacks on the desk at the front.

"The ones I'm putting in front of you all have three yes votes. Read through them, pick the usual yes, no, or maybe and when you're done, turn the yeses face down."

Everyone had about ten pieces of varying lengths. Kurt found he was taking a long time over his last one because it reminded him of something. When it seemed James was becoming impatient, he dog-eared it, put it with his maybes, and initialed the dog-ear.

James said, "Now pass your yes pile face down to your right."

They went through the same routine.

When everyone had finished his latest stack, James said, "Right now, anything with five yeses has a majority vote. Can we skip the discussion or do we want everyone to read every poem?"

One of the juniors raised his hand.

"Yes, Sam?"

"I think skip the discussion. As you say, it's already a majority."

There were nods from the group. "All right then. Let's do the same thing with the maybes on your desks. They already have three yeses, so maybe we don't need to do more than one or two more rounds of reading each."

Two rounds later, Kurt looked at the last poem in his stack. It was a sonnet. The question in the last line jumped out at him, and he re-read it from the beginning, blushing as he realized it was Blaine's description of their first meeting.

He sat and stared at the words, and finally marked it with a yes. It was at least as good as most of the others he'd read. But he dog-eared it and initialed the dog-ear before turning it in.

The rest of the meeting went the same way, and by being so efficient, they had a large stack for the publication -- although the rejection pile was at least twice as big.

James handed them each a thick envelope. "I hope that by the time I see you guys on Monday, you'll have each already read at least five packets. That way we'll only have to do this exercise with a few maybes. Thanks for staying later."

Kurt hung back to speak to James. "About the two I dog-eared…"

"Yeah, I noticed that." He handed them both to Kurt who glanced at them and found the first.

"This one. I'm sure I've read it before, but I can't think where."

"Plagiarism is a serious charge. It could get the author expelled."

"I know, that's why I don't want to say anything to someone -- other than you -- unless I'm positive. Can you hold it to one side until Monday? If I haven't thought of where I read it before by then, it's safe to assume that I made a mistake."

James nodded. "That seems fair. And the other one."

"It's Blaine's. He didn't want anyone to see it."

"Besides you, you mean."

"Besides his English teacher. I think I'm the last person he wanted to read it."

James glanced it over and looked at Kurt shrewdly. "I see." He took a deep breath. "The policy has always been that once a piece has been given to the magazine, it's ours. I'm sorry if Blaine didn't want it turned over to us, but it's too late, now."

Kurt sighed. "I thought that's what you'd say, but I wanted to bring it up. Monday's the deadline for turning a poem in for this edition, right?"

"Yes."

"I may have one for you, then."

"Email it to me, if you'd like."

"Sounds good." Kurt put his packet away in his satchel and went out the door.

\---

Over the weekend, he sent two emails. The first one had a link to a poem he'd studied in French class and read, "Use Google translate. I think you'll find it matches the poem I thought was familiar to me. Monsieur Barnes failed four students for using it rather than translating the poem themselves, and he read it aloud so that we'd know he'd figured it out."

The second email contained his submission to the literary arts magazine.

\---

James smiled at Kurt as he walked into the layout meeting that Thursday. "Your poem is in. I'm going to suggest that it go on the last page along with Blaine's poem, if it's all right with you."

Kurt nodded. "Thank you. Yes, even if it's not the last page, please put them together."

James turned back to the room. "All right, everyone, roll-up your sleeves and let's put this together."

\---

The Valentine's Day concert began at seven. The middle school's acapella group, The Eighth Notes, sang three songs and then the school orchestra performed the second suite from Respighi's "Ancient Airs and Dances" and Gershwin's "Cuban Overture."

The magazine was distributed during the intermission, but the people backstage weren't given copies.

The second half of the concert was The Warblers, and they concentrated on love songs.

When they ended with _Teenage Dream_ , Kurt blushed at the response from the audience. His family and several members of New Directions had driven down, and he was thrilled to see Rachel jump to her feet and applaud.

They did one encore of _Hey, Soul Sister_ , and then the group went to meet their well-wishers.

Kurt got a pat on the back from Wes as he left to see everyone. "Just tell them that we're not using anything we sang tonight at Regionals."

"Sure, Wes." Kurt glanced at Blaine quickly before grabbing his coat and running out the stage door.

Sam had driven not only Quinn, but Tina, Mike, and Mercedes to the concert. Finn had come with Burt and Carole, and Brittany and Artie were also along and had brought Rachel.

Mercedes was going to ride back with the Hummels, since they lived closer to her than Sam did.

The second Kurt arrived, he was hugged and slapped on the back. Rachel was trying to give him a note by note critique.

Brittany's only comment was, "We dance better." Which Kurt agreed with wholeheartedly.

After the initial hugs, Mike and Tina were over to one side leafing through a copy of the poetry edition they'd picked up during intermission.

Mike tapped Kurt on the shoulder. "Did you write this?"

"Yeah."

Tina grinned. "It's really good. So romantic, you know?"

Sam said, "You're going to make the rest of us look bad."

"Honey, look in the mirror, he already makes you look bad." Mercedes winked as she said it.

"Hey, don't I get a chance to hug him?" Burt made his presence known. "I know that curfew of yours is coming up. You'll be home for the long weekend next week, right?"

"I'll be home for dinner on Friday." Kurt clasped his dad's shoulder.

He heard Blaine call his name and turned. The other boy was holding a copy of the magazine and his eyes were filled with questions. He stepped away from his dad and went over to where Blaine was standing.

Kurt smiled, a little tentatively, and felt Blaine's lips brush against his. He slid his hands behind Blaine's head and pulled him into a deeper kiss. When they broke apart, he leaned his forehead against Blaine's and said, "My whole family is watching."

Blaine nodded.

Burt cleared his throat.

Kurt's cheeks were pink as he looked at his family and friends. "My curfew's in five minutes."

"Is yours?" Burt asked Blaine.

Blaine swallowed. "No, sir."

"Dad!"

Burt sighed. "Bring him home for dinner next Friday."

Carole smiled fondly at them both. "We'll make it special and go to Breadstix." Finn brightened a little at hearing that, Kurt noticed.

"That would be lovely, Mrs. Hummel," Blaine said. He took Kurt's hand and blushed at the shy smile Kurt gave him.

"Just a minute." Kurt squeezed his hand and went to hug everyone, again, saving his dad for last.

He went back to his new boyfriend and they headed back to the dorms together.

\---

"So I just saw they'd written poetry to each other. Anyone care to read it to me?"

Finn started to read it. "A Question by Blaine Anderson.

 _"Some things are too simple. Attraction can take  
a mere moment when grey, green, blue eyes gaze  
into mine, wholly open. I'm in a daze  
Can barely speak my name, even as I fake_

 _"My own introduction, reach out to shake  
his hand, hoping, praying rather, he's crazed  
As I am. I lead him through this maze  
Afraid the alarm will sound, and I'll awake._

 _"Instead, everything becomes so complex.  
I'm alive in his touch, aware of his essence  
Pure and sweet, innocent, yet a knowing soul  
Who shares himself unaware of his effects.  
Finding him, I'm more myself, strong in his presence.  
Is this love? When we share, I become whole."_

"So Blaine likes Kurt. Like _likes_ him?" Finn asked.

Mercedes rolled her eyes and took the magazine from Finn. She said, "An Answer -- by Kurt Hummel

" _Pop music plays in food courts --  
Selling fake food with faker emotions  
  repetition bopping  
  boring into your ear with  
words so rotten-sweet, they can only be made  
  from Corn-syrup._

 _"But some have a line  
  a phrase  
   a word  
      a note  
that lets a Truth  
about Love  
peek out and  
          wink  
Before ducking back to hide among  
    the banalities._

 _"When we first met, I told a lie  
    but then our hands touched  
  our eyes  
  LOCKED  
And I saw all the  
    Truths  
(about me, about you, about Love)  
  Unblinking  
Clean and clear and crisp  
      and sweet as forbidden fruit  
In one leaf-eyed  
    Smile._"

"That didn't even rhyme," Finn said.

Mercedes whacked his arm with the magazine. "Kurt said what he needed to say, and it's still poetry."

As they bickered in the back seat, Burt reached out and took Carole's hand, squeezing it for just a moment. "I don't know whether it's good poetry, but I think my kid's in love."

Carole squeezed back, then patted his knee. "I think you're right."

**Author's Note:**

> The recipient was LJ user Rusting_Roses from the prompt "Life Less Ordinary by Carbon Leaf"


End file.
